


The One Where John and Sherlock Discover Themselves

by liveindenver



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Meet Differently, Anal Sex, Angst, Bisexual John, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Jealous John, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rimming, Self-Discovery, Teenlock, Unilock, Virgin Sherlock, and normally i'm totally eh on them, apparently not this john and sherlock, more blow jobs than i usually write, well my attempt at angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 18:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6205198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liveindenver/pseuds/liveindenver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson grows up and discovers his bisexuality.<br/>One day he meets Sherlock Holmes, and helps Sherlock work through his sexuality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One.

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd or brit pick'd!  
> If I've missed any mistakes, let me know!

John is fourteen, and hangs out with Sarah a lot.  They pass notes during class.  She winks at him from her spot off the side of the field, with the other cheerleaders, all throughout his rugby games.  They’ve seen a movie once or twice on a Friday night, when John’s mum would let him out.  John thinks he likes Sarah.  

 

John is fourteen and plays rugby with mates from his school.  He has classes with them.  Goes to practice with them after lessons.  Stays in the changing room with them.  Showers near them.  Jokes, and wrestles with them, as guys do.  Sometimes, John thinks he might like guys, too. 

 

This isn’t something that John spends too much time dwelling on, though.  He tries not to let it interfere, and he seems to forget about it sometimes. 

 

 

_____

 

 

One Thursday afternoon, John has just finished maths class with Sarah, and he’s making his way to the locker room to get changed for rugby practice.  Sarah’s talking about something that happened the other day at cheerleading practice, and John really is trying to be an attentive boyfriend, but it just happens that he can see Louis making his way nearer.

“Hey, Louis!” John calls out, while Sarah is mid-word.

That earns him a scoff, and a eyeroll from Sarah. 

“John,” Sarah said tersely, trying to get his attention back.  “John?”

“Hey, John,” Louis replied, looking up at John through his lashes, with a smile, a smile that John easily returned.

“Hey, Sarah, I’m just gonna head off with Louis.  We’re heading the place.  See you later.”

With that, he walked away from Sarah, catching Louis’ eyes again, and smiled softly before turning his head. 

 

 

_____

 

 

After practice, all the guys are moving slow back to the locker room, everyone covered in mud.  Half the team sprawls out across the benches, while the other half head straight for the showers. 

“Hey!  Who wants to go out for pizza in a bit?” Bill Murray called out.

A few guys yelled out confirmations, as John just lay there on the bench, too tired to even think about doing anything other than heading straight home.

“Watson, you in?” Mike Stamford asked.

“No, I don’t think so today.  I’m beat.  Just gonna head home and get started on the questions for biology, I think.”

“What’s going on,” Louis asked as he walked back from the showers.  John looked up, and saw that Louis had on nothing but a towel around his waist.  His chest and hair dripping with water.  “I wanna go! Where are we going?”

“We’re going out for pizza! You want to come?,”  John asked, suddenly alert, sitting up on the bench.

“Oi, Watson!  You just said you were out, what gives?” Bill laughed.

John laughed, wishing that no one had mentioned it out loud.  He felt eyes on him, so he looked up, and saw Louis staring at him with that same soft smile.

Blushing, John got up and walked to the showers.

 

 

_____

 

 

“Look, Sarah, I already said I was sorry, didn’t I?,”  John asked, later on that night.  He was laying back on his bed, a pillow over his face, annoyed at having to repeat this same conversation for the fifth time.  

“John, you said you would call me right after practice.  It’s been three hours.  You could have at least text me, is all I’m saying. “

“Yes, Sarah, I know.  I’m sorry and it will never happen again.”  John tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, he really did.  It was difficult, though.  His mind just couldn’t get the sight of Louis laughing out of his mind.  The way his eyes crinkled at the corner was more endearing than it had any right to be.  “My mom’s calling me down, I need to go.  See you tomorrow.”

 

Walking downstairs, John saw his mom and his older sister Harry sitting at the table.  Obviously this wasn’t the best thing he could have seen.  

“John.  Can we talk for a minute?,” his mom asked, looking down at a paper in her hands.  John pulled a chair back and sat down.  He tried catching Harry’s eyes to see if he could read a sign as to what was going on, but she was refusing.

“What’s up, mom?” John asked, knowing this wasn’t going to end well.

“John, I’ve tried my hardest.  I want you to know that.  It’s been hard since your father left.”

John made a move to leave the table before his mom grabbed his arm and sat him back down.  What John really didn’t want today was to talk about his dad.  It had been almost 8 months since he left.  Just left one night, left with dozens of bottles of whiskey littered around the living room.  He had been the one to wake up early that morning, and realized something was wrong.

“Please, John, just sit down.  Without your father’s income, we can’t stay here anymore.  I took a position at the primary school in Edelstein.”

“Mum, what do you mean?  Edelstein is over two hours away!”

“I know, John.  I was at your school this morning and I got everything set.  Your records are already being transferred.  You’ll start there on Tuesday.”

 

 

_____

 

 

 

John’s been in Edelstein for two years now.  He’s heard from Louis once.  He tries not to think about that.  He joined rugby at school just two weeks after moving, and the coach seems to fawn over him every available chance.  That’s what leads him to gym one day.  Wrestling unit this month, and John gets paired up with the guy who took his place as “the new kid.”  Some bloke named Oliver transferred last week, and Coach has decided that John needs to take him under his wing.  

John walks into the locker room, and changes into his gray sweatpants and sweatshirt, joining in on the conversation a few guys are having about their upcoming rugby game.  It’s an important one, and one of John’s last before he leaves for uni.  With his plans to go straight to med school as soon as possible, it’s likely that this is going to be one of his last few times to actually enjoy himself.  

“That big fella is still on their team.  He should have been in uni ages ago, that great oaf,” he hears Anderson calling out.  John laughs, and catches sight of someone in the corner of the room.  Clearly the new kid, because John’s never seen him before.  He sends to smile his way, then turns back to his locker, shoving his school uniform inside.

“Alright, file out,” Coach yells, sitcking his head inside the locker room.  “Get in your pairs, find an empty mat and let’s start.”

John sees Oliver already standing on a mat, so he makes his way over.  

“John Watson,” he says, nodding his head.

“Hi, I’m Oliver.  I’ve never wrestled before, so pardon me if I’m no bloody good.  Coach said you’re rather the best.”

“Well, Coach never lies,” John replies with a smirk.  

 

 

_____

 

 

 

Oliver has short hair, not as short as John’s, though, but much more a bright blonde.  The hold he currently has Oliver in, makes his nose press straight into the hair, which smells like lavender, and John isn’t sure if there’s been a better scent he’s been privileged to smell.  John has Oliver down on the floor, and he’s on Oliver’s back with both knees, his head hooked with one arms, and his legs with the other.  He rolls back, so that Oliver is now facing up, toward the ceiling.  John, at this point has already worked himself up considerably, and the press of their bodies together weakens what little reserve John has had left, and his arms give out on him, he drops Oliver, who falls directly into John’s spread knees- Oliver’s back to John’s front. 

“I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry,” Oliver rushes out, and tries to flip himself over, but with John’s legs still wrapped around him, all it manages to do is bring the two boys together, chest to chest, all the way down.  The sweatpants that they wrestle in do very little to hide, and it’s with a flaming red face that John realizes Oliver has just rolled himself over, directly onto John’s erection.

“Oh,” Oliver whispers out.  “Oh,” he repeats again, a little firmer as he sees John’s eyes sliding shut in obvious pleasure.  

“I’m, uh, I didn’t mean, uh,” John stutters out, still unable to bring himself to move, eyes still firmly shut.

“It’s okay, really.  I’ll, uh- I just, uh,” Oliver says, shifting back slowly, while still making it a point to drag his body off of John’s.

“Right,” John says, trying his best to subtly adjust his hard prick, moving it up to hide in the waistband of these unforgiving sweatpants.  “I think I’ll just head off to the locker room.  Let coach know if he asks, yea?”

John makes his way toward his locker, trying his hardest not to break into a sprint.  He opens the door, and walks over to a bench, laying down and closing his eyes.  It’s not a big deal, he tries to convince himself.  It’s just that, this guy is new.  And however comfortable John is with his sexuality, he has always made it a point to wait until he’s sure the other guy is interest before he makes a move.  

He’s still laying there twenty minutes later, when he hears the door screeching open.  Assuming it’s the end of class, he gets up, and starts putting in the combination for his lock.  He can feel the presence before any words are said.

“John,” Oliver says, a question in his voice.

John turns around not realizing just how close Oliver was to him. 

“Look, I’m sorry.  If you wa—“

John’s cut off by hands sliding onto his hips and Oliver pressing up close to him.  They lock eyes and seem to be waiting each other out, waiting make sure the other finds this okay.  John is the first to lean forward, lips lightly touching each other, hands gripping harder.  

“Oh, fuck,” Oliver groans out.  

“Mmm, yea,” comes John articulate response.  It’s just been so long, and John is so fucking hard from bring pressed up against Oliver in these thin sweatpants.  He leans back in, kissing deeper.  This lasts for a few more moments before John feels like he needs something more.  

 

“Can I suck your dick?,” he pleaded, pulling away from Oliver’s mouth.  

Oliver freezes, eyes wide.

“Please?  Can I just—“ John grits out, bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

“Yea, yea.  Come on, get over here, though.” Oliver says, grabbing John’s arm and hauling him to the shower stalls.  

John drops down to his knees hard, and he realizes that later, much later, when he isn’t preoccupied, that will probably end up hurting.  As it is, all John can focus on is getting a cock in his mouth.  His hands pull down the waist of Oliver’s sweatpants and underwear in a swift motion and is delighted to see that Oliver is just as hard as he is.  John licks along the length, and sucks just the head into his mouth, working it with long pulls.  It doesn’t take long for Oliver to come down John’s throat.  John stands up quickly, divests himself of sweatpants and underwear as well, and pumps his own cock no more than seven times, and he’s coming.  Apparently having a cock in his mouth gets him to the edge.  

“I think that was the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Oliver says with a smile, leaning into John.

John smiles back and thinks that he could do this.

 

John and Oliver make things official a few days later, and spend the rest of John’s senior year together.  When it’s time for John to head to uni, they split amicably and John is happy for it.


	2. Two.

John is in the library one evening, trying to finish up a paper on infectious diseases.  He’s been here three hours, and for once, has stayed focused and put in a decent amount of work.  If he can’t grasp infectious diseases, there’s no way he would be able to make it as doctor, so he counts this as a win.  

All is going well until he hears a loud crash from his left.  He turns quickly, because what if sweet Mrs. Hudson, the librarian, has fallen, or dropped a stack of books?  But, no.  It’s not Mrs. Hudson.  John gets out of his chair and walks forward to be sure, but yes, there is a man with dark curly hair slamming books down onto the ground. 

John takes a few steps closer and can hear him muttering to himself, “Wrong!  They’re all wrong!”  

“Is there something I can help you with?” John asks, clearly startling the young man, as he flies around and John has to stifle a gasp because, _Christ_ , he has never seen anyone that looks this way before.  His skin is so pale, John can see the veins running down his neck.  Speaking of his neck, it’s long and gorgeous and dotted with freckles and honestly, Jesus, John would beg this man to kiss down it’s entire length.  His eyes are the most gorgeous color that John can’t find a name for.  They’re green, but silver and blue at the same time, and wow, he really is trying to close his mouth, he feels like it’s hanging open.  

“The books.  They’re wrong.  You would think a library would buy updated books at least once every hundred years,” he says, voice rising as he finishes his sentence.  And John is trying hard, really hard to take his eyes away from those cheekbones and he’s never seen a face built with that structure.  

He smiles, and huffs a laugh, saying, “Yea,” because clearly John is out of his league here, and what else is he supposed to say?

“You’re quite attractive,” he ends up blurting out.

“Wh-what?” the dark haired _angel_ stutters out.

“I’m sure you get that all the time, but just, I wanted to let you know.  Well, now that I’ve made an utter arse of myself, I’ll get out of your way.” John says, turning around, his face a furious red. 

“Wait!  I’m Sherlock.  Just you know, in case you needed to know that.” Sherlock, apparently, says, staring at John with those eyes.

“Right.  Thanks.” John says, and, why exactly did he thank him?

John makes his way back to his books, and decides to pack up and leave before he embarrasses himself any further. 

 

 

 

_____

 

 

 

John’s getting ready for bed that evening, grabs his clothes and makes his way over to the dorm showers.  Thoughts of Sherlock had been flitting in and out of John’s head all evening, and around dinnertime he decided that what he needed was a nice wank tonight.  He walks in, double checks that no one else is in, and turns the water on.  He stands under the stream, warming himself up for few moments, before his hand drops down, where he’s already hard.  He grabs himself, holding tightly down at the base, and gives himself a long, hard stroke.  He tries to think of something, anything, besides Sherlock.  Because it’s just not on, is it?  To fantasize about someone you’ve barely even met.  So, John tries to think of something.  His mind immediately comes back to when he first saw Sherlock, with his back turned.  And he closes his eyes, strokes down to the head of his cock, and can see nothing but Sherlock’s nice, plush arse.  Something unbridled comes to mind, something he’s never done before, nerves always getting the better of him before he does it- he thinks of Sherlock’s arse in those tight black trousers of his, and thinks of how it would feel to have his tongue tracing along Sherlock’s arsehole.  He wants to know what it would feel like, dipping his tongue inside, making Sherlock writhe.  And suddenly, John is coming all over the wall of the shower.  He’s coming so hard, his eyes slam shut and he has to brace himself with his right hand on the wall, because maybe his legs feel like they’re beginning to go out.

He methodically finishes his shower, and walks back to his room, shuts off the light, and gets in bed.

He’s awake for hours, can’t stop thinking about Sherlock’s arse.  

 

 

 

_____

 

 

It’s not that John has been purposefully taking a different route these past few days to try and find Sherlock.  He’s certain that he’s never seen Sherlock before, because with a face like that, he would remember.  And, well, he did find him at a campus library, so he must be around here somewhere.  It doesn’t hurt to walk in a different direction, does it?  If his head pops around like a meerkat at any dark hair that passes by, well that’s probably just a coincidence.  

It’s been four days and John feels devastated that he hasn’t seen Sherlock again.  Perhaps John just wanted to meet him again, and hope that his second impression is a little better than his first.  John’s in the library again this evening, neurological disorders this time.  Unlike his last visit to the library, this one is much more unproductive, and he’s nearly decided to pack up and go home when someone comes up behind him and says, “You know Professor Drew grades easier for the girls, right?”

John closes his eyes briefly and hopes that he’s remembering that voice correctly.  Opening his eyes, and turning around, he is greeted with a sight to bring a smile to his face.

“Sherlock, right?” John asks, and he knows that’s the guys name.  He’s moaned it more times than he can remember, but figures this is a bit more polite.  “I don’t think I introduced myself last time.  I’m John Watson.”

“Hello, John.  Come with me,” Sherlock says and then turns on his heels and walks in the other direction.  

John scrambles to get his books that are laid out over the table, because there is no way that he’s going to miss the opportunity.  

He catches up to Sherlock just as he’s rounding a corner, then bending behind a bush.

“Hush,” Sherlock whispers, grabbing John’s bag and pulling him down.

“Let me know if you see anyone coming out the back door of the labs.”

That’s the only thing that was said during the next twenty minutes, until Sherlock abruptly stood up, and asked, “May I use your phone?  I seem to have left mine in my room.”

Handing Sherlock his phone, John stares and can’t think of a single thing to say.  He has no idea what just happened, and is too afraid of what might come out of his mouth if he opens it.  Sherlock hands him his phone back a moment later, and asks, “Dinner?  I know a great place right off campus.”

“Uh, okay.  I’m starving,” John says. and realizes that yes, he is.

 

 

_____

 

 

Thirty minutes and one taxi ride later, they’re sitting at booth and some bloke named Angelo has just put a candle between them. 

“So, have you got a girlfriend?” John asks, because he is truthful dying to know if he would ever have a chance.

“Girlfriend?  No, not really my area,” Sherlock says, peering over the top of his menu.

“Oh.  Alright.  Got a boyfriend, then?” John asks, and is praying he doesn’t look too hopeful.

“While I’m flattered by your interest, I don’t think this is the best time to be in a relationship for me.  School is important and I intend to finish with no distractions.”

John tries not to let the despair show on his face. “No, no.  I wasn’t— I didn’t mean.  Look, I wasn’t propositioning you.”  John said, and hoped he was least coming off as earnest.

Sherlock just raised his eyebrows at John.  John leaned back and closed his eyes until the waiter came by to take their orders.

 

 

_____

 

 

An hour later, John was walking back to his room, fully accepting that Sherlock was never going to speak to him again, and John couldn’t even blame him.  He really mucked it up, asking if he was single.  John walked in his room, changed into his pajamas and laid on his bed.  He pulled out his phone intending to text Mike Stamford and update him on Sherlock, seeing as Mike knew all about John’s infatuation with him.  He scrolled through and saw a contact listed as ‘SH.”

 

**I know I didn’t ask you for your number.**

_Hmm.  I thought it would take you longer than this to find it._

**Should I be offended at that?**

_Don’t be.  You’re no more of an idiot than anyone else out there._

**Well now I’m definitely offended.**

_What are you doing right now?_

**I just got back.  Just laying in bed right now.  Why?**

_I’m bored and not remotely tired.  Want some company?_

**Sure.  Too early to call it a night anyway.  I’m in building B on Champfield Hall.**

 

 

That was the first night.


	3. Three.

Six months later and it was nearly impossible for someone on campus to find John and Sherlock away from each other.  From the very first night they had dinner at Angelo’s they became best friends.  John never spoke about the first night and the one time he had subtly attempted to ask Sherlock out and Sherlock was kind enough to never mention it either.  John’s masturbatory habits hadn’t improved much, but he did try his hardest to keep Sherlock far from his mind when it happened, he wasn’t often successful.

“Sherlock, come help me with this.  Professor Robert didn’t explain this very well and you know I hate chemistry anyway.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and got off John’s bed, making his way over to the desk where John was hunched over at.

Efficiently explaining the problem better than two hours with Professor Robert did, John closed his notebook, and tried to get up before realizing that Sherlock was still lingering over him.  Normally Sherlock complained about the lacking intelligence of the people appointed as their educators, and moved back over to John’s bed where he would continue clicking through his phone or his laptop.  

“What’s wrong?” John asked, looking up.

“John.  We’re friends, right?  I mean, I’ve heard you calling me your best friend to a few of your mates, but can I call you that, too?” Sherlock asked, oddly hesitant.

“Well, yea, Sherlock, of course.  You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.  What’s going on?  Is everything okay?” John asked, starting to worry now. 

“I just, I think, I’m gay,” Sherlock rushed out.  “I don’t know.  I mean, I’ve never even kissed anyone, so I obviously don’t know for sure, but I feel comfortable in assuming that I am, in fact, gay.”

John had never explicitly told Sherlock his own sexuality.  After the first miserable encounter, John had carefully strayed far from all topics of sexuality.  

“Wait, you’ve never kissed anyone?” John asked, bluntly, freezing on that one statement.

“No, John.  You’re my only friend.  Surely you would have realized that.  Who else would I have kissed?” Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes.  

“I don’t know.  You never just… experimented with anyone?”

Sherlock shook his head no.

Hesitantly, John turned his head away from Sherlock before saying, “I could, uh, I mean, if you wanted, I could show you how to kiss.  You know, just so you know for when that happens.”

“Yea?” Sherlock asked, also looking nearly as uncomfortable as John felt. 

“I mean, we’re, uh, mates,” John paused, face contorting into something skeptical at his own use of the word, “yea?  So, it’s alright.”

“Yea?” Sherlock repeated.  “I guess that makes sense.  Did you want to try it now, or do you need to prepare first?” Sherlock asked, finally pulling away from over John’s chair.

“Prepare?  Sherlock, what do you think kissing entails, exactly?”

“Look, John, I don’t know!  I just told you I’ve never done this before,” comes Sherlock’s indignant reply.

“Alright, alright, calm down, princess.  It’s not like we’re having sex, or something.” John retorted, standing up from the chair, and making his way to his bed.  Luckily this kept him turned from Sherlock, because Sherlock had suddenly blushed scarlet.  “Well, c’mere.  Let’s just get on the bed.  It’ll be a bit more comfortable.”

“O-oh, oh, okay,” came Sherlock’s uncharacteristic stammering as he moved back to the bed, and sat down on the opposite end as John.

“Well, you won’t get kissed sitting four feet away from me,” John said, crawling on hands and knees over to Sherlock, who, feeling a little intimidated at the moment, leaned farther back against the bed frame.  

“Alright, Sherlock, calm down.  When you’re kissing someone, it’s best to get them a little worked first, yea?  Even if all you’re doing is kissing,” John quickly rushed out, once he saw Sherlock’s eyes widen with alarm.  “What I like to do,” he said, leaning forward over Sherlock, “is to kiss along their neck a little.  Nothing too open mouthed or anything.  Just breathy little kisses along the line of their neck.  Like this.”  John leaned his head down, and puffed a quick, warm breath of air where Sherlock’s jaw and neck connected.  He darted his tongue out to dampen his lips, then pressed them to where Sherlock’s neck was still warm from his breath.  “See, you do this.  Then build your way down the neck.”  He placed another kiss directly under the spot he just pressed his lips.  “And just keep giving nice, slow kissing.  Pressing firmly against their neck.  Make sure they feel it.  Think of it as a promise you’re making to them of all the things you have left to do.”

Sherlock’s breath stuttered as John placed two rapid kissing against his collarbone.

“And then what I like to do,” John said, “is run my tongue from where collarbone meets shoulder, down to the top of the chest,” John said demonstrating for Sherlock.  

“J-John,” Sherlock panted out.  

“Yea?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock said, stifling a moan, “what next?”

“Next is the good part.  Make your way back up.  I like to try kissing back over the same spots that I’ve already done, seeing as it’s typically more sensitive,” John said, proving his point by kissing his way back up Sherlock’s neck.  “Then, take their bottom lip between your teeth, and just lightly bite it.  I’m gonna do it now, okay?  Let me know if it’s too much.”

John’s tongue made it’s way out of his mouth again, and Sherlock watched it, mesmerized, feeling like his world was moving in slow motion.  Then, before he was ready for it, John’s parted lips were coming for his.  He sucked in a breath, and couldn’t seem to release it, as John grabbed his bottom lip between his teeth.

John let out a tiny moan, before pressing his lips fully to Sherlock’s.  He kept his tongue in his mouth, but moved his lips expertly against Sherlock’s, who caught on quickly and moved with him.  

“I think that’s probably enough,” John rushed out, pulling back quickly.  Sherlock’s eyes were still closed, lips wet, slightly pink and parted.  “I need to get back home.”

“What?,” Sherlock asked, eyes finally opening dazedly.  “We’re in your dorm.”

“I mean, bathroom.  I’ll just be— I’ve gotta— loo,” John said, rising from the bed, and running out of his room.  

He made it to the hall bathroom, slammed the door behind him, leaned against the door, and slid his hand inside his pants and trousers without even undoing his belt.  He shivered at the first touch of his hand to his cock that had been throbbing uncontrollably for the past ten minutes.  He grasped tightly, fisted him a few times, and came inside of his pants.

 

 

 

_____

 

 

By the time John made it back from his wank and shower, Sherlock had left.  He grabbed his phone and saw that Sherlock had text him.

 

_Thank you very much, John.  That was more enlightening than I thought it would be._

**Yea.  You’re welcome.**

_I understand if you don’t want to talk about it ever again.  I can delete it, if you’d like._

**Delete it?**

_When there’s data that I don’t need to know, I just remove it._

**Is that why you don’t there’s no current King of England.**

**I don’t want you to delete it.  Just helping out a friend, yea?**

_Thanks again, John.  Goodnight._


	4. Four.

A week had passed, and other than their texts the same evening, the kissing had never come up again. 

John’s lit class was cancelled for the afternoon, so he made his way over to the labs, where he knew Sherlock was at.  The lab was the only place Sherlock seemed to enjoy being on campus.  John was frequently talked _at,_ about it being the only worthwhile thing on his schedule.  He heard more about Sherlock’s lab partner than he would have liked.  John got the impression that aside from himself, the lab parter was the one and only person that Sherlock could tolerate.  

He opened the first set of doors, and looked around, trying to find the classroom Sherlock was in.  He abruptly stopped when he saw a nearly empty classroom.  Only two people were in it: Sherlock and a girl with light brown hair, pulled up into a ponytail.  Sherlock was standing directly in front of her, barely two inches between them, his head was bowed down to hers, and hers titled up toward him.  

John was torn between wanting to wait it out, and see exactly what would happen between the two, wanting to run screaming, and wanting to burst inside the door and stop anything before it could happen.  John decided on the latter, and pushed the door open as hard as he could.  He succeeded in slamming it into the opposite wall, causing as much noise as possible.  John stormed in the door, stood a little straighter, and pushed his shoulders back, unconsciously trying to make himself more threatening. 

“Sherlock,” he said, but making eye contact with the girl, who was still standing far too close to Sherlock.

“John, what are you doing here?,” Sherlock asked, and had the audacity to sound angry.  

John realized he was probably overreacting.  Sherlock had told him, after all, that he was gay.  Well, when John thought about it, Sherlock said he thought he was gay, but couldn’t be sure, seeing as he had never kissed anyone.  John sucked in a deep breath, and held it, counting to ten, and deciding whether he should just turn around and leave.  

“John?” Sherlock asked again.

“My class got cancelled.  Just coming to see if you wanted to pick up some Chinese tonight.  I see you’re busy, though.  I just—“ John said, tilting his head back toward the door. 

“No, it’s okay.  We were just finishing up,” the girl said, and John turned his glare back to her.  

She face away quickly, and pressed a handful of notes into Sherlock’s hands.  “You go.  I can clean this up.  See you in the morning, Sherlock.”

John turned around, and strode out the door, listening carefully to make sure he heard Sherlock’s tread behind him. 

John made it halfway down the hall, before he turned to face Sherlock, face flaming red, jealous anger coursing through his entire body.  “That’s your lab partner?”

“Yes, John,” Sherlock replied, eyebrows pulled together, looking more confused than John had ever seen him.  

“That’s why you needed to learn how to kiss, wasn’t it?” John asked, not waiting for an answering before he turned back around and continued walking way. 

“John,” Sherlock called out, running to catch up.  “John!” he called out again, when John didn’t stop.  “Whatever you’re thinking, you’re wrong,” Sherlock nearly yelled out, grabbing John’s arm.

“Look, Sherlock.  It’s fine.  It’s all fine.  At least now you know you’re not gay, right?” John scathingly replied, as he yanked his arm away.

“John, please stop.  Just turn around and look at me.  I didn’t kiss her.  You did honestly just walk in at the wrong time.  I am gay.  I’ve never been more sure of that.”

John sighed, “I’m sorry, Sherlock.  There’s no reason for me to get angry about it regardless.  Just forget it.  Delete it.  You can do that, right?  I’m starved, let’s go get some Chinese, yea?”

 

 

_____

 

 

A few hours, and three boxes of greasy noodles later, John and Sherlock made their way back to John’s dorm room.  John had spent the majority of dinner marveling at the fact that Sherlock had never seen a single Bond movie.  John grabbed his laptop from under the bed, and set it up while Sherlock rooted through John’s closet for the hidden snacks he knew John was keeping; always a stickler for something sweet.  Moments later, they laid on the bed next to each other, laptop toward the end of the bed. 

A few minutes into the movie, Sherlock turned to John, and whispered, “John, nothing happened.  Nothing would have happened.  You’re still the only person I’ve kissed.”

“Sherlock, really.  It’s okay.  Even if you did kiss someone.  It’s okay.  I don’t know why I acted like that.” Laughing, John continued, “Besides, knowing you, you wouldn’t think you’re good enough at kissing after just one try.”

“Well, you’re right about that last bit,” Sherlock laughed along with John.

“I mean, we could try again.  If you wanted.” John said, head turning away from Sherlock, looking anywhere but at him.

“Okay,” Sherlock breathed out.

John’s head snapped back to him, “Yea?,” he asked, already leaning forward.

“Yea,” Sherlock said quietly, eyes dropping down to John’s lips, where he could see a pink tongue darting out.  

John closed the distance and pressed his lips to Sherlocks.  Gasping out, Sherlock’s eyes fluttered shut. 

John slowly moved his lips, titling his head to the side to get a better angle.  He shifted forward a bit, so his body was flush against Sherlock’s.

Sherlock whimpered into John’s open mouth, and opened his mouth a little wider.  John took the opportunity to slip his tongue inside of Sherlock’s mouth.  

John snogged Sherlock until every breath coming from Sherlock was barely short of moan.  He sat up, pulling Sherlock with him.

“I’m going to suck your cock now, alright?” John said, struggling to breathe, looking up, into Sherlock’s eyes.

“Wh-what,” Sherlock stammered out, mind spinning, unable to stop.  It didn’t matter, though, John was already lowering himself down, kneeling in front of Sherlock, and leaning his forehead against a prominent hipbone.

“Sherlock,” John breathed out harshly, “please, please let me suck your cock.  God, please,” he begged, placing a kiss on Sherlock’s hip, over the button up still covering him.

“Okay.  Yes, John,” Sherlock closed his eyes, and leaned his head back.

John made quick work of button the tight, black trousers, and lowering the soft pants.  He sucked in a deep breath, and leaned forward, tongue coming out to lick lightly at the head of Sherlock’s cock.  He groans as he sinks his mouth over the head of Sherlock’s cock and sucks it, in long pulls.  

Keeping his mouth full of the tip of Sherlock’s cock, John pats Sherlock on the hip, attempting to catch his attention between groans and moans.  When Sherlock finally notices, John pulls his trousers and pants the rest of the way down.  Sherlock’s balls are already flushed red and tight against his body.

John breathes in deeply through his nose, taking in the heady smell of Sherlock’s most private area, and pushes forward, slackening his jaw, and takes Sherlock all the way to the back of his throat. 

Sherlock cries out, and reaches down to John’s head, pulling away desperately. 

“Please, fuck me,” Sherlock rushes out.  “Please, please, please,” he repeats, head thrashing.  “John, please, fuck me.”

“Sherlock, I don’t know if we should,” John said, “I mean, you just had your first kiss a week ago, don’t you think it would be too fast?”

“John, please.”

“Your first time should be special, Sherlock,” John says, willing himself to change Sherlock’s mind.  John already found himself madly in love with Sherlock.  Who knows what would happen if he actually did have sex with him.

“John,” Sherlock says again, and it’s the tone of his voice that causes John to finally give in. 

“Yea.  Yea, alright.  Take off the rest of your clothes and lean back.  Let me just—“ John starts, turning toward his closet, hoping he has a condom and lube.

After searching, all he found was a nearly empty bottle of slick.

“Sherlock, I’m sorry.  Fuck, I’m sorry.  We can’t do this.  I don’t have any condoms,” and John really is sorry.  He needs this.  He needs to have sex with Sherlock, if this is his only chance.

Sherlock looks up at him, face clear of all expressions, “Do you— you don’t ever use them?”

“God, no.  I’ve used them every time.  I’ve never gone without one.  I mean, I can go and see if someone down the hall has one!”

“Just, come here.  Will you just come lay with me?,” Sherlock stares up, oddly hesitant.

“Yea, okay,” and John is trying to keep his despair off his face.  He was close, _so close_ , to having Sherlock.  He lays down next to Sherlock, who is lying there naked, except for his shirt.  “Can we, you know, keep kissing?  Is that alright?”

“Mmm,” that soft moan was the only response John got from Sherlock.  He laid down and slotted himself against Sherlock.

Sherlock nuzzles closer, body pressed completely against John’s, and John can’t help but give a small huff of laughter at the sight they make, how strange it feels in this moment to have Sherlock’s bare skin touching his clothing.

“John,” Sherlock said, voice such a low rumble it was hard for John to hear, “it’s okay.  That you don’t have a condom, I mean.  I trust you.”

“Oh, Sherlock.  It’s not about trust.  You’re my,” John paused, gulps just to take a moment to get his emotions under control, “my best friend.  This is your first time, not mine and it needs to be safe.”

“John,” Sherlock says, pushing his hard, blood red cock against John, grinding against him, and whimpering.  “John, please.  I can’t express how much I simply don’t care.  I need to have your cock in me right now.  I need to know how it feels,” and Sherlock is sweating and rocking into John, and that’s all it takes.

Ripping his shirt off his head, John stands up, trying too quickly to remove too many layers of clothing.  He can feel Sherlock’s long, fragile fingers working at the button of jeans, and then cool rush of air against his throbbing dick.

“Alright, lean down, hands and knees.”

“Okay, okay.” Sherlock pants out, moving forward, onto hands and knees like John said.

John can’t help the groan that slips out, nothing could have stopped it at the sight of Sherlock bent over, spread to him.  “Oh, God, Sherlock,” and he rushes forward, both hands reaching out, and spreading Sherlock’s cheeks open.  To say that an arsehole is beautiful, is something that John had never considered, never thought would be possible.  Sherlock, as always, defies everything else.  His tight hole is the perfect shade of pink, and looks so tight, that John doubts his prick will ever fit inside.  John can see little peaks of inside as Sherlock circles his hips.

“Sherlock, are you sure?,” John asks again, because as much as he wants this, feels like his entire life has been building up to this moment, it would kill him to lose Sherlock over it.

“John,” he groans out, “John, please.”

“Alright,” John soothes, and moves his left hand closer to Sherlock’s hole, spreading his cheeks even wider.  The only thing on his mind is something he’s wanted to try for years.  Something he never felt comfortable doing with anyone else before now.

He leans in close, and presses a rough kiss to Sherlock where thigh meets arse.  He trails kisses up, to meet his other hand, stops and takes a moment to breath, so glad he finally has a chance to do this.  His tongue slips out, and licks lightly, directly onto Sherlock’s tight, pink hole.  Sherlock shouts, actually yells out, and drops his head down to the bed.  

John groans, realizing what effect he’s having on Sherlock already.  He reaches out again, tongue deftly working around Sherlock rim.  He flattens his tongue and runs it from Sherlock’s testicles over his hole, to the small of his back, relishing the taste that’s covering his tongue.  

“John, please, please, I need more.”

He pulls back far enough to grab the bottle of lube, and covers his fingers, working into Sherlock, as quickly and efficiently as he can.

Sherlock is nothing besides a writhing, pleading mess at this point, begging for John to fuck him with every word that slips out of his mouth.

Finally, _finally_ , John feels like Sherlock is ready.

“Alright, back up, hands and knees,” John tells him, pressing kisses to Sherlock’s lower back.

“Hold up, hold on, John.  Just a minute.”

“You ready?,” John asks, begs, desperate to be inside of Sherlock.

John slowly eases in, and realizes Sherlock’s been holding his breath.  “Breathe, Sherlock.  Take a deep breath.”  Sherlock gasps, takes in as much breath as he can, as John’s hand slips on the sweaty surface his Sherlock’s back, burning hot.

John finally feels the head of his dick press in through the first ring, and he chokes out a high pitched breathy gasp at the tightness of it.

He slowly slides in, inch by inch, deeper into Sherlock, and it’s so hot, and it’s so tight and John has never felt anything like this before.  He’s moaning, and moaning, and moaning, and _oh God_ , how is this good?  He pushes in the remaining length, and he’s finally in, his pubic bones pressed against Sherlock’s cheeks.

“Fuck, Sherlock, I’m in.  I’m inside of you.  I’m all the way in,” he pushes and hits the spot inside Sherlock that makes his back arch, and he hoarse voice to yell out.

“Oh, John, I—,” Sherlock groans out, tongue swiping out to lick his lips.  “John, you feel so, God, John, you taste so good.  Please, John, please I want more.”

 

John rears back, and pushes into Sherlock harder, fucking into his mercilessly.  He’s restlessly PUSHING his hips in, hands gripping Sherlock’s hip, pulling him back onto his cock harder, deeper, more, more, more.  

John’s pulls back too far, and his dick slips out out of Sherlock’s hole.  Sherlock’s voice rings out too loud in the quiet room, “No!,” and he’s grappling behind himself, trying to find John again, and put him back where he belongs, back inside of Sherlock.  His eyes are closed tight.  Shut so tight that his vision is all black, with starbursts of white.  His jaw hangs open and he can’t control the way his fingers are bruising John’s skin, trying with everything he has to pull John back in.

Slowly, _too_ slowly, John presses back inside of Sherlock, feeling the ridges of silky texture that glide over his cock as he sinks back inside of Sherlock’s tight hole.

Sherlock sucks in a breath and it’s a moment before John realizes he’s yet to release it.  

“Breathe, Sherlock!,” John says forcefully, which contradicts the soft, tender way John is moving his hands all over Sherlock’s body. 

Sherlock exhales, long and unsteady and groans as John starts pumping his hips.  The angle is perfect, and Sherlock has never had sex, but he knows this is perfect.  John’s cock is grazing his prostate with every single thrust and Sherlock is close to being overwhelmed but it’s just so beyond perfect, that he can’t do anything but moan and writhe and plead with John.  At this point Sherlock doesn’t even know what he’s begging for, but a steady litany of, “God, please, John.  More, please.  Please, John,” is pouring from his mouth and he’s helpless against it.  John’s slow thrusts bring Sherlock to his breaking point, and his prostate is so stimulated and everything is just so much, and Sherlock is at the apex of his pleasure and he _shouts_ , he yells out loud and he’s coming so hard the stars are back in his eyes, his legs are trembling and he can hear John, “Oh, fuck, Sherlock.  So beautiful, that’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” and Sherlock is still begging, and John is still giving and his thrusts speed up, and his thrusts get harder, and deeper and this, _this_ is exactly what Sherlock was begging for this whole time, and he’s just come but God, it still feels so good, so _right_ , to have John moving inside of him this way.  A few more thrusts and John is collapsing on top of him, and his limbs are as shaky and weak as Sherlock’s.  John’s murmuring something unintelligible, and he can barely understand what he’s saying, much less expecting Sherlock to know.  It could be important, but John is just feeling _too much_ , to discern what he needs to say.  John just wraps his arms around Sherlock, slides down next to him, and pulls him onto his chest.  Sherlock gives a little whimper, but makes no other complaints, and John’s sure that Sherlock is just a little tender, and more than full of John’s come.  Then Sherlock settles, breathes deeply into John, and it’s such a _content_ sound, that John is overcome with more emotions than he knew ever existed. 

 


	5. Five.

After two days, John was officially worried.  It was two days after John had woken up, Sherlock Holmes still nestled in his arms, and pressed a kiss to his forehead, hoping that Sherlock wasn’t awake enough to notice.  John waged with himself whether it would be best to attempt slipping out of bed, or whether he should feign sleep until Sherlock woke up.  Unfortunately, he didn’t get much of a decision in it, as he felt Sherlock’s body go rigid, and could sense the tension coming off him in waves.  

“Sherlock, hey.  I was just get—“ John started to say, but stopped as Sherlock jumped out the bed, and started looking around for, John presumed, his clothing.  “Hey, what’s going on, Sherlock?  You okay?”

“Yes.  Why wouldn’t I be okay?  Where is my shirt?  You know, forget it.  Don’t need it.”

“What’s going on?” John asked again, raising up to his knees on the bed, pulling the sheets with him to give some sense of decency to his naked form.

“Nothing, John!  I said nothing is wrong.  I told you I wanted to see what sex felt like.  And I have.  Now please leave me alone.”

“Leave you alone?  What do you mean?” John asked, trying, and failing, to keep his voice from sounding panic stricken.  

“Just what I said, John, leave me alone!” Sherlock said, walking through the door and slamming it behind him.

 

So, here John is, two days later, phone seemingly permanently attached to his hand at this point.  He’s called Sherlock, left voicemails, and far too many text messages and he hasn’t heard anything back.  John sets his phone, closes his eyes tight, and curses at himself.  He should have known better than what he did.  Sherlock was his best friend and to let something like this ruin there friendship was more than John was willing to bear.  He told himself that over and over again as he got his things together and made his way over to the showers, willing himself not to cry.

 

An hour later, he’d eaten breakfast and was heading to his first class of the day when he saw Sherlock across the courtyard.  He ran, as dignified as he could, to make it to Sherlock before Sherlock could walk away.

“Sherlock.  What’s up?  I haven’t seen you for days,” John said, a bit exasperated. 

“Hmm,” was the only response that John received back.

“Do you, uh, have your phone?  I tried calling a few times.”

“Yes, I saw that, and 47 text messages as of last night.”

“Well, sorry, I guess.  I just wanted to talk.  You left in a hurry.  You know, after,” John trailed off.

“After you fucked me?,” Sherlock said bluntly, finally turning to face John.  His face was void of any emotions, and John’s heart broke just the little bit that it had left to break.  

“Sherlock, I didn’t fu—,” John paused, had to take a deep breath, because he would not, _could_ not, cry in front of Sherlock right now.  “Sherlock, you wanted to have sex.  I told you that I didn’t think you were ready.  I wanted something special for you.”

“John.  Don’t be so sentimental,” Sherlock spat back at him, “I wanted to be fucked, and I got fucked.  I don’t think there’s anything else to be said here.”

John, so stunned, could do nothing but stand there, mouth agape, and chest heaving as Sherlock walked away from him. 

 

 

_____

 

 

A mother later, and John’s just leaving class when Greg Lestrade calls out for him across the hall.

“John!  Wait up!”

John takes a step back and waits, knowing exactly what this is about.  Greg has been on him every day for the last three weeks, trying to cheer him up, trying to get him to see people.  Trying to do anything besides study and sleep.

“Hey, me and Molly are going grab some food tonight, why don’t you come with us?”

“I’m not third wheeling on your date, Greg.”  John said, and started walking away.  

“No, it’s nothing like that.  There will be other people there, besides us.”  John’s eyes widened, and Greg quickly understood what that meant, “No, he won’t be there, John.  I checked.”

“Yea?  Well, alright.  What time?”

 

John got to the pub last, and made his way to the back, squeezing next to Greg, and blanched when he saw the girl that was wrapped in his arms.  It was the girl from a month before, in the labs with Sherlock.  

“You’re Molly?,” John asked, feeling at once, entirely breathless and like his heart would pound out of his chest. 

“Oh, my god.  You’re _that_ John?,” she asked, suddenly furious.  Rounding on him, she nearly shouted, “What did you do to him?”

“Me?,” John sputtered, “I did absolutely nothing!”

“That’s a lie, and I know it is!  Sherlock has missed class! Sherlock has missed over half of his classes!  He finally came to lecture yesterday and ran out of the room when Professor Toccata started talking about the thermal expansion of gases!  He was about to cry because Toccata was talking about the chemist John Dalton.  Don’t sit there and tell me you did nothing to him.  That is not the Sherlock Holmes that I know!”

“Whoa, Molly!  Honestly, calm down.  What is going on here?,” John asked, confused an understatement for how he looked.  

“He what?” John asked, trying to ignore the fluttering of hope he felt in his chest.  

“He loved you, John Watson.  He loved you and you used him,” she said, voice full of malice.  

“Molly, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Greg said, scooting toward John.  “John’s been an absolute mess for weeks.  Utterly inconsolable.”

“Ta, mate, really.” John said, “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Molly.  He left me.  He’s the one that never returned my calls, that walks away from me when we’re within 50 feet of each other.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, brows furrowed.  “He looks heartbroken.  He acts heartbroken.”

“Where is he right now, Molly?” John asks, trying, and failing, to keep the pleading out of his voice.

“He’s in his room.”

 

 

_____

 

 

Breathing hard, John stood on the outside of Sherlock’s door.  He closed his eyes, and leaned against the frame.  Maybe this was best.  The way things were now.  John already misunderstood once, and after this, he wasn’t sure he could handle being rejected by Sherlock again.  What if Molly was wrong?  He took a deep breath and knocked.  He waited, for what felt like an eternity, on the cusp of hyperventilation, before the door slowly opened, and Sherlock’s head of curls appeared.  He eyes were rimmed in red and he was wearing the ratty dressing down that John had seen buried deep in his closet; had often wondered if Sherlock packed it by mistake.  

“John?,” Sherlock gasped, a small hiccup escaping as John watched his hands turn white, from the way he was gripping the door.

“Sherlock, are you alright?” John asked, panic sinking in.  “What have you done to yourself now?  Let me in,” John asked without reason, as he moved around Sherlock and into the door. 

“John?,” Sherlock asked again, even more hesitantly, “What are you doing here?”

“No, bloody hell, Sherlock.  What’s wrong?  Are you sick?  You realize that when you don’t sleep your body can’t fix itself.  Have you even eaten anything since we—,” John cut himself off, clearing his throat. 

“John.  Why are you here?,” Sherlock asked, and John tried not to notice the slight desperation to his tone. 

“Well, I was— Molly was at this thing.  Well, I’ve been wanting to,” John stammered around, trying to avoid saying the words running through his mind, _I need you, I miss you, You are the best thing to happen to my life, I want you back, I love you, I love you, I love you._

“John,” Sherlock repeated, taking a step closer to John.  He walked until John could feel the heat coming his body.  

“Are you okay, Sherlock?  Just tell me if you’re okay.”

“I wasn’t.  I wasn’t okay, John.  I’m not okay with you, John.  I don’t know what I did wrong.  I was so scared.  I thought that maybe I just needed to feel what sex was.  Thought maybe it was just so many hormones that made me feel the way I did, but I was wrong.  It was so much more and when we, you know, all I wanted was you.  Anything else in my life could have happened, and all I could think about was you, and making sure that you were there with me.  I’m so sorry, John,” Sherlock rushed out, in what seemed like a single breath and then he was collapsing into John’s chest.

John held him tight, arms wrapped around firmly, holding him close as Sherlock shook.

“Sherlock, look at me,” John said firmly.  “Look at me.  You don’t understand how much I love you, do you?  Do you even know how much I have loved you from the very first moment that I ever saw you?  You were throwing books and accusing them of having the wrong date printed in them, and I knew then that I loved you.”

“What?,” Sherlock asked, breaking out into a fresh wave of sobs, “Why didn’t you ever say anything?,” he asked, voice quickly turning angry. 

“Sherlock, what the bloody hell was I supposed to say when you shot me down the very first day we met?”

“Wait, you just said— Did you say that you love me?”

“Yes, you git.  I love you. I love y—“ and with that, John was interrupting by Sherlock lips, pushing into his so forcefully he staggered backward, trying his best not to fall over.  

“John, John,” Sherlock panted between kisses.  “Can we, I just mean, I would like it if we could have sex again.  Now.”

“Oh, god yes.  Lay down, Sherlock.”

Sherlock turned them around, and pulled John back to the bed.  Looking more nervous than he did the first time, Sherlock, grabbed John’s hand and laid him down beside his own body.  John pressed a hand to Sherlock’s jaw, and kissed him softly.  “God, you’re so beautiful,” and Sherlock moaned from the compliment, “I have missed you so much, Sherlock.”

John trailed kisses from Sherlock’s jaw, down his neck, over his bare chest.  He gently pushed back the dressing gown and kissed every inch of skin he could get to.  

“John,” Sherlock started hesitantly, “can you take of your clothes, too?  I just want to feel.  Skin on skin.  Please.”

Taking a moment to regain his breath, John started removing his shirt, followed by his pants and trousers as Sherlock removed his own bottoms.  

As John lay back down, and press the lengths of their bodies together, the two gave out identical moans of absolute pleasure. 

John started where he left off, and a path of kisses continued down past Sherlock navel, and between his hipbones.  He kissed around Sherlock, where his solid, erection was straining against his stomach.  

“John,” came a whimper from above.  “Please.”

John took the head of Sherlock’s cock into his mouth, savoring the taste, the weight of Sherlock in his mouth.  He worked Sherlock further into his mouth, pushing as close to his groin as he could, until Sherlock was down his throat.  He swallowed around the head of Sherlock’s cock, and Sherlock screamed out so loud, that John was concerned his teeth had gotten him.  Realizing how hard it was to breath with Sherlock that far down his throat, his pulled enough to gasp in a breath, then pushed Sherlock back in again.  

“John, John, John,” Sherlock was saying, head lolling back and forth on the bed.

John tightened his lips, and slid off of Sherlock’s cock.  He reached over, hoping Sherlock had lube in his bedside table.  Found the bottle and laid it on the bed next to Sherlock.

“Here, hold these,” John said, pushing Sherlock’s legs up to his chest.  Sherlock dutifully wrapped his arms under his knees, and John keened seeing Sherlock opened up so beautifully and unashamed for him.  

He started at Sherlock so wonderfully exposed until a small, uncertain, “John,” came from Sherlock’s lips.

John closed his eyes, and opened them again to lock eyes with Sherlock.  “I’m sorry, you’re just so beautiful, every single inch of you.  I could look at you all day,” he said, emphasizing his point by rubbing the pad of his thumb over Sherlock’s tight, pink hole.

A shaky breath came from Sherlock as his eyes fluttered shut.

Crawling forward, John pressed himself over Sherlock, his own hard cock, rubbing against Sherlock’s hole and perineum, “I love you so much, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Oh, God, John.  Please, please fuck me.”

“No, Sherlock.  I will fuck you hard one day.  I will pound you so hard, and keep you restricted so all you see, all you feel, all you breath and think will be me.  Right now, though, I’m going to show you just how much I love you.”

With a soft kiss, sweeter than John thought he was capable of, he started opening Sherlock up, preparing him slowly, taking all the time Sherlock needed, because that was what they had now.  Time. 

 


End file.
